


Stay With Me

by LikeABulletThroughAFlockOfDoves



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1939 to 1940, Blood and Gore, Death, F/M, I mean, M/M, Maybe a bit historically inaccurate, Violence, Winter War, but theyre in e background, estonia and Hungary don't really show up much, finland's a sniper for a bit, finnish independence, i'll add more tags as i go along, its war come on, sealand is sweden's brother in this one, sorry for any mistakes, warfare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7307851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeABulletThroughAFlockOfDoves/pseuds/LikeABulletThroughAFlockOfDoves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Berwald Oxenstierna is a medic on the front lines of the Winter War, the fight to keep Finland's independence and fend off the Soviet Union.<br/>He meets Tino Väinämöinen, a small yet formidable Finnish soldier ready to do anything for his country. </p>
<p>The war looms just beyond their camp, and there are some things even a medic can't fix.</p>
<p>Winter War AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitter Air

He'd spent far too long on one cramped train. The steady chug, chug, chug, had lulled most of his comrades to sleep, but it kept Berwald up for the whole ride. He wasn't sure how long they'd been travelling. He knew the others were mildly scared of him, but his uncomfortable and bad-tempered expression was merely due to the fact that he got travel sick. Not that the others knew, they seemed to nervous to talk to him. He didn't blame them.

They were heading for the war front. Not the main war, between the allies and the axis. No, they were the part of the Swedish Volunteer Corps, and they would fight for Finland's independence against the Soviet Union. The conflict in the north had started a month ago, at the end of November. Now, as one year faded into another, seven medics and fourteen soldiers were making their way to a small pocket of Finnish resistance.

Contrary to what most would expect, Berwald Oxenstierna wasn't a soldier. Plenty of people had told him that, with his stern expression and tall frame, he would make a brilliant troop, but he man remained adamant that he could never take another's life. He became a medic instead. He would heal wounds instead of creating them and mend bones instead of breaking them. His dark grey uniform was adorned with a white band on his upper arm, the fabric marked by a crimson cross.

  
The train lurched to a halt, shaking Berwald out of his thoughts. The others on in the dark compartment jerked awake. The wooden walls of the carriage concealed the outside, but they were hardly soundproof. Muffled voices spoke in a language Berwald recognised but didn't understand. With a jolt, he realised it was Russian. The train must have been stopped by soviet troops. If they looked in the Swedish compartment, the twenty-one people hidden inside would be as good as dead.

They held their breath as footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. The sound of a door opening along the train travelled through to them. Berwald knew their hearts would be pounding, after all, his own was making a good attempt to escape and save itself. He couldn't blame it.   
The stale air inside the train did nothing to calm his breathing. It had become shallower and his lungs ached with the need for more oxygen, but he didn't dare move or do anything that could give them away. His comrades' eyes gleamed in the darkness, shining with poorly disguised fear. They clutched their guns, some letting their hands trail to rest on the pockets filled with ammunition on their belts. The only sounds were the quiet in and exhales of the troops and the distant commotion of the soviet soldiers.

More footsteps sounded outside the carriage. Berwald was near the door, but he didn't look out of the cracks in the wood. If his glasses so much as caught the light, their opposition might decide to investigate. One wrong move could kill them all. That was exactly the opposite of his job. Medics were supposed to save people, not condemn them to a horrible end.   
Several voices drifted in from just beyond the wooden walls. With baited breath, the Swedish soldiers listened in, trying to glean anything they could of the conversation. The harsh tone of one and the fierce mutterings of another gave Berwald reason to believe that the train's driver was arguing against the Russians opening the carriage. There was a shifting of boots and metal, as if he was now being warned not-so-subtly that they wouldn't be adverse to using force. But the driver stood stoic and the voices kept arguing.

All of the men inside the train flinched. A hand had smacked on the wooden wall - the soviet troops were getting impatient. The chain and padlock securing the door clinked with the shifting of the door in its frame. A last shout came from the driver. The shadow of the hand disappeared. Berwald waited for the door to slide open and daylight to flood in. He waited for the smug look of victory on the soldier's face. He waited for the sound of gunfire and the splatter of scarlet blood. But it never came.

The gravel crunched again, but this time away from them. No one dared to move though, as the voices of the annoyed opposition were still audible, if fainter. Only when the pull of the train wheeled them out of the station did they let out a collective sigh of relief. Berwald rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. In his fear-fuelled exhaustion, he quickly slipped into sleep.

-

A whistle from the train woke him with a start. The men sitting in the carriage looked around, somewhat bewildered. But a second long, high whistle came; the signal that they had arrived and that they were safe.

There was a rush to stand up, the wooden floor creaking as many pairs of shining black boots hit it in unison. They clutched their bags; packed only with the essentials and perhaps a few personal keepsakes. Berwald's own contained a small child's sailor cap, a parting gift from his young brother. Peter loved sailors and insisted that, one day, he would join the navy and become the greatest commander Berwald had ever seen. The older of the brothers recalled smiling and telling the boy to follow his dreams before he left. He _would_ return. He _would_ see Peter achieve greatness. He wouldn't accept anything else.

With a scratching screech, the door slid open. The driver stood solemnly in front of the doorway, saluting them before he walked away. It was likely that the company of twenty-one would come back with less than ten men. Nevertheless, they climbed out and into the light layer of snow. None of them were unused to the cold, having lived their whole lives in the chill of the north.

The station was small, makeshift and littered with scraps of wooden planks and leaves. The smoke of the train filtered languidly into the cloudy sky. Berwald watched it for a moment before he shifted his bag on his shoulder and followed his comrades to their next mode of transportation. This time, it was a trio of heavy-duty jeeps, designed to plough through the snow without a problem. The backs were open, with beige canvas stretched over a metal frame. They sat on the benches inside, the uncomfortable metal flat and cold but a considerable relief from the cramped darkness of the train carriage. Sitting at the end of the row, Berwald watched the station empty as the train pulled away.

The ride in the jeep was a lot shorter than that on the railway. They had been in the dim carriage for a little less than six hours. There had been several scares like the one with the soviet soldiers, but in the end nothing had happened apart from the slight delay in their arrival. Now, they were in the crisp winter air and free to move around and so as they pleased.

-

Within an hour, they had arrived at the camp. There were no trenches like those in the main war, but a small wall of dirt shielded the many tents from the battlefield. At the moment, it was still. The early morning push would be over, Berwald knew, and the evening one was still a few hours away. Both sides had men manning machine guns and patrolling the borders of their camps. Berwald was surprised by the distance between both front lines. The Soviet tents were far closer than he would like.

The jeeps pulled into the camp and stopped rather abruptly. The soldiers cursed as they almost fell off their seats, but Berwald merely peered outside to the line of waiting soldiers. Their blue-grey uniforms blended well with the winter landscape and they saluted as the Swedish volunteers climbed out to face them. The commander of the camp walked straight-backed between the lines.

"Alright boys! These are the new kids." He bellowed. "Be sure not to let them run into any more danger than they have to." A ripple of dark-humoured laughter went through the soldiers. The commander pulled a list out of his pocket and reeled off names and tent numbers. There were to be four men to a tent. Berwald watched his comrades walk off with their new roommates until he was one of the last left. "Berwald Oxenstierna, tent twelve!"

He had been so busy watching the others that he almost missed his name. He nodded hastily and walked towards a group of three beckoning him over. Two smiled, the other looking bored but not necessarily unfriendly. Berwald was surprised by the slap on the shoulder given to the messy haired Dane who introduced himself as Matthais Kohler. All of the Swedish troops had learnt Finnish in preparation for the trip, but Berwald was by far the best at speaking and understanding it.

"Oh- and this is Lukas Bondevik. He doesn't mean to look so grumpy, it's just his face- ow!" Matthais was shoved hard by the stony faced Lukas. Berwald watched the exchange with mild amusement in his eyes. The third member of their tent smiled at him and held out a hand.

"I'm Tino Väinämöinen. Don't mind these two, they're always like this." He said cheerfully. Berwald was surprised to see no medic's band on his arm. The Finnish man was small and lithe, unlike most of the other soldiers. Even Lukas, who was somewhat small, was obviously built to be a soldier. But then, Berwald thought of his own predicament and the expectations he had crushed as soon as he joined the Swedish Volunteer Corps. He shook Tino's hand.

"I'm Berwald Oxenstierna. Nice to meet you." 


	2. Morning Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berwald works in the infirmary.
> 
> Tino, Lukas and Matthais are on the battlefield.

Berwald had spent a month and a half at the camp already. It was the 15th of February and the snow still coated the landscape. Their sleeping bags were thick, blocking out the cold of the tent and the uncomfortable metal bars of their cots. The tent was small, with just enough room for four beds in lined up by the canvas walls, two on either side.

Overall, he was very happy being with his roommates. They were good friends, even with Matthais' antics and Lukas' bad temper. The Dane always seemed to be doing something to annoy his Norwegian friend, but Berwald had seen the slight quirk of Lukas' mouth whenever Matthais did something stupid - which was alarmingly often.

The one he worried for most would be Tino. He was cheerful and friendly, waving a slender hand to him every time he was sent out onto the battlefield. He would've expected the small man to be eaten up by the other side in no time. But he came back every time, even if he wasn't smiling.

"He's quite the demon on the battlefield, actually." Berwald was informed by Elizabeta Héderváry, another soldier. "You don't need to worry about him."

He nodded, but the thought didn't ease his mind. He worried for all his comrades. As a medic, it was his job to think and prepare for any sort of injury that could be inflicted. His mind was constantly filled with gruesome images of Tino, Matthais and Lukas coming back, blown to bits or bleeding all over. He imagined Tino's purplish blue eyes becoming dull or Matthais' smile vanishing or Lukas' usual silence being broken in screams of agony. It was his job to worry, and he couldn't escape it.

-

In the mornings, he would get up and dressed, head to mess hall/tent for breakfast and meet his roommates there. He did so that morning, finding Lukas and Tino drinking coffee as they talked. Well, Tino did most of the talking, chattering on about who knows what. He flashed a blinding smile at Berwald as the tall man sat down. The Finnish man was intimidated by his stern appearance in the slightest. Berwald gave him a rare smile back.

"We're heading out in twenty minutes. Oh, and Eduard said he wanted you to help out in the infirmary today." He informed him. Berwald nodded. He hadn't been out on the battlefield yet, but he wasn't exactly anxious for it to happen. The infirmary had a clear view of the fight, and he'd already felt that he'd seen too much. The loud bangs and the constant thunder of gunfire was enough to send fear spiking through him.

He shook off the thought, reaching for his own cup of coffee. The warm drink was always welcome, but the two men opposite him seemed to have a special preference for it. He dreaded what would happen lest they ran out.

With neither Berwald nor Lukas being much on the conversation front, it was up to Tino to keep the silence at bay. He talked about how he'd trainedhis dog, Hanatamago, to so various tricks. He kept this up for a while, watching Lukas occasionally stand up a little to look over Berwald's shoulder. He met the Swede's eyes with a shrug and jerked his head towards the anxious looking man. Berwald shrugged right back.

"Hey Lukas, what're you doing?" Tino asked. Lukas scowled.

"Matthais isn't here yet- oh, speak of the devil." Just at that moment, the Dane barrelled in looking startled. He flopped down next to Berwald, who'd shifted along to make room on his bench. Lukas must've kicked Matthias under the table, because he let out an indignant whine and blurted out 'what was that for?' in an undertone.

"Sorry I'm late." He mumbled. Berwald glanced at the clock. They barely had five minutes before they had to move out. Matthais was unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his hands, which rested on the wooden table. His knee was bouncing up and down nervously. Lukas rested a pale yet grimy hand on the other's, whispering to him urgently. Berwald glanced at Tino, his eyes questioning from behind his rectangular glasses. Tino sighed, his cheerful smile fading for once.

"The next push is going to particularly dangerous. We're heading into the far corners of the battlefield. There's not as much barbed wire, for sure, but they have as many tanks as there are stars in the sky." He over exaggerated. Berwald cast a concerned glance sideways at Matthais. With Lukas whispering in his ear, he'd calmed down and managed to stop fidgeting almost entirely. He flicked his gaze back to Tino.

"It'll be fine. After all, we have plenty of medics. And we've held them off for this long." He attempted to provide some sort of support. Once the others were out on the battlefield, there wasn't much he could do for them. All he could hope for was to treat the constantly renewed wounds appearing on his friends. Considering the heavy gunfire and the occasional mine planted by their enemy, they'd all been lucky. As of yet, none of them had been seriously hurt. But Berwald didn't want to jinx it.

The bell was rung by the camp warden. It reminded Berwald of the old brass one his school teachers had used to call the children in from break. It was almost identical, ringing out with a metallic clang each time it was shaken. Everyone in the hall shot to their feet. The soldiers and field medics stormed outside, arranging themselves in perfect lines. Berwald met Tino's eyes for one more moment and nodded to him, and unspoken wish for good luck. The tiny Finnish man smiled before the medic took off for the infirmary.

-

The war was loud. Incredibly so. Even with the tent walls shielding them, the bangs and the screams and the never ending gunfire. However much he strived to, Berwald couldn't make out the figures of Tino, Lukas and Matthais. He quickly had to push the thought aside though, the floods of injured soldiers were relentless.

He was rushed off his feet. Their team of twenty medics was clearly not enough to cope, especially as five were always sent out with the soldiers. There see men bleeding and dying left, right and centre. Berwald briefly saw Elizabeta through the gap in the tent, directing a group of soldiers through the battle. She was like a hurricane, disrupting the other troops and never giving them a moment to recover. If she said _Tino_ was a demon... Well, Berwald couldn't images anyone who looked more in their element.

"Berwald! Get more bandages, we're losing him!" Eduard yelled over the din. The Swedish medic nodded once before hurrying to the nearest supply cupboard. He returned as fast as he possibly could, pressing fresh gauze onto the wound on the soldier's chest. It was bleeding profusely and the fabric was quickly soaked through. He cursed, renewing the bandages. A hand stopped him as he was about to cover the bullet wound again. He looked up at Eduard, wide-eyed. The other medic shook his head. Berwald gritted his teeth, guilt washing over him.

_I could have saved him._

"He's gone." Eduard stated. It was unnecessary. The man's face had lost its twisted pain, now looking almost peaceful. The blood had stopped pulsing from the open wounds and already the man looked pale and cold. The medics stood in respectful silence for a moment before they were called on to their next patient.

Berwald felt shame and guilt crushing down on his shoulders. He had failed. His job was to save people, but he had let them down. He had let that soldier die. If he hadn't been distracted by the battle, if he'd only responded faster, if he wasn't worrying about the people he knew full well could take care of themselves, maybe the soldier would have made it. Maybe he wouldn't be lying cold and bloodied on the infirmary bed.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder for a moment and looked down to see Eduard. The smaller medic held his gaze steadily, his eyes serious, stern and yet gentle.

"This is war, Berwald. We can't save everyone. That soldier is dead, but the others," he waved a hand to those around them. "You can still save them."

Berwald nodded, turning his attention to the survivors. He could save them. He _would_ save them. No more lives would be claimed under his watch. He vowed it to himself silently, steeling his mind and moving to help the next patient.

-

He had spent all day patching up the wounded. When Berwald finally found the chance to sleep, the us was well below the horizon and the moon was shining in the star-speckled sky. But, as dark and quiet as the camp was, Berwald found sleep evading him. He couldn't seem to rid himself of the dead soldier's image.

His mind kept replaying Eduard's words - 'he's gone'. He saw the dried blood on his hands and clothes as if it were fresh, as if it were still pouring from the man's wounds. The smell of it made him feel sick. It was strange, he'd never been disgusted by blood before.   
He recalled the dying pulse and the glassy look of the soldier's eyes. The distant sound of gunfire and bombs and screams. The pained breaths and the abrupt silence as his body finally gave up.

He shook his head, standing up. He wouldn't be able to sleep, not with those scenes blazing through his mind every time he so much as closed his eyes. He could even look at his hands without imagining them coated in fresh blood. He'd never lost a patient before. He had been lucky; with so many dying on the front lines, it was expected that a medic would witness more than three deaths per day. He didn't understand how those fighting the main war could stand it. He could still see the scarlet blur and smell the iron tang of blood. He wondered if it would ever leave him.

"Can't sleep?" A small voice mumbled behind him. Tino was sitting up in his bed, watching Berwald with tired eyes. From the shadows under the purple-blue, the medic could tell he hadn't slept either. He wondered dimly how long Tino had gone without sleeping.

"No." He said shortly. Tino nodded, looking away. Lukas and Matthais slept soundly, probably used to the horrors of war. They'd seen the destruction of the main war, Tino told him once. They were used to nightmares. The Finnish man looked back at him, eyes a mixture of sympathy and sorrow.

"I would tell you that it goes away, but it won't. It likely never will." He said, just as quietly as before. Slowly, Berwald sat back on his bed, opposite to Tino. His eyes were narrowed slightly, concentrating on the words of the small soldier. "But we will win this war. Nothing will stop me from defending my homeland."

Tino's voice had become fierce, a quiet fire kindling in the chilly night air. He looked determined, eyes glowing with the desire to protect Finland from the Soviet Union. Berwald could see his cheerful demeanour cracking, the demon Elizabeta spoke of rearing its head. Oddly enough, it was comforting. The words seemed true and Berwald believed Tino with all his heart.

The soldier was good at comforting people. He hadn't asked what was wrong. He didn't dig up the past or make Berwald relive his mistakes. He merely assured him of the future. And the medic was grateful for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's another chapter. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Next chapter will be a little more dramatic, if that's possible! 
> 
> I'm really enjoying writing this, so I think I'll update soon again... *shrugs*


	3. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berwald goes onto the battlefield with Tino, Lukas and Matthais.

The next morning was chaotically calm. Everyone seemed to be doing something, but there was no rush. Berwald felt like someone had laid a new set of stones on his shoulders since yesterday. His talk with the previous night had relieved the guilt and shame of losing a patient, but now it was right back on his shoulders. The reason: he was going onto the battlefield.   
  
There wouldn't be any do overs if something went wrong. No one else to take over if it became too much. I was his responsibility to keep the soldiers alive. The opposites img side shouldn't shoot at him - unless he got in the way.

He thought about this as he picked up his supply pack. Tino was in the tent as well, sitting with a hand running up and down his gun. He'd packed his ammo and was waiting to be called to go. Berwald placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, watching the troubled expression hide behind a mask of cheerfulness. He frowned slightly.

"It's okay to be scared, Tino." He murmured. The Finnish soldier nodded, his smile slipping a little. He turned away, gazing at the empty beds that belonged to Lukas and Matthais. They'd headed out already, unable to stand the tension of the tent. The roommates would all be on the same field soon, though.

-

They didn't bother heading out to the mess hall. Instead, Berwald and Tino waited inside the tent until they were called out to ready themselves for the upcoming battle. The small soldier still looked nervous - it was written in the way he fidgeted and his eyes never seemed to stay still - so Berwald took it upon himself to distract him.

"Where do you come from?" He asked quite simply. Tino looked up, a hint of confusion in his expression.

"Just outside Helsinki." He answered. He must have traveled quite far across the country to reach the border. "Do you miss your home?"

Berwald frowned. He found that he hadn't had all that much time to miss it. He'd been working almost non stop every day, plus he had the company of Tino and the others. But as he thought about it, he realised he didn't miss it as much as he thought he would. There was no aching need to be back there, to return to Sweden and his family. Briefly, he wondered why.

"Not as much as I thought." He said. Tino nodded in understanding. He looked for a moment as if he might say something else, but right then the bell rang out. Instead, he cast a long glance at Berwald.

"Good luck."

-

The sounds were even more terrible on the battlefield. Each shell ripped through the air, punching the ground in front of them. The tang of blood stuck everywhere and the mud sloshed messily around their boots. Shouts and screams were slung through the battle, directing the tide of soldiers to whom barbed wire of the opposite side was the shore.

Berwald was to stay with the members of his tent. Each group needed a field medic, and today was his turn to join the soldiers. He watched Lukas pull Matthais down, moments before a volley of bullets zipped past.   
The mud splashed as they ran. Berwald's eyes lingered on Tino as his eyes flashed and he lifted his gun, hitting the man who'd shot straight through the heart. He never missed. It was something Berwald was beginning to realise and he found that he fully understood why Elizabeta had described the small soldier as a demon. He couldn't help but admire the incredible skill Tino possessed.

As a unit they ran forwards, dodging bullets and craters left by mines as they went. Tino ducked as a shell barrelled towards him, gunning down the sender as he straightened up. Lukas led them, with Berwald at the back. He had nothing to worry about from his own side, and it was likely that nobody from the other side would shoot at a medic. At least, not on purpose.

The next few moments happened as if in slow motion. Matthais fell to the floor, dodging yet another round of ammunition sent their way. Tino hastily skidded to a halt, spraying watery mud in his wake. Berwald watched as Lukas looked over his shoulder, but the churned up mud kept him from turning around sat enough. A noise like a volcano erupting hit them and a pillar of mud and blood flew straight up in the air. Matthais cried out a warning too late. The tainted black mud fell back down like rain.

Berwald raced to his injured comrade's side. Lukas lay awkwardly on the ground, his face twisted in undisguised agony. Matthias launched himself over at the same time, whilst Tino defended them in the face of any attack.

"You'll be okay, Lukas. You'll be fine." The Danish soldier assured his friend through trying to hold back a cascade of tears. He looked at Berwald, as if challenging him to say otherwise. The medic nodded, murmuring something similar to the fallen soldier. There was blood everywhere. It stained the mud and Lukas and Berwald's hands were soon covered in a mess of both the soldier's blood and the wet mud surrounding them. He pulled out several rolls of pale bandages, desperately trying to stop the thick, scarlet blood gushing from the wounds. Lukas' legs had been cut off just above the knee; torn away from him with the force of the land mine.

The soldier didn't make much sound. Berwald would have been happier if he did. It was always worse when a patient was quiet. He knew the blood loss would kill Lukas if he was attended to in the infirmary immediately. The soldier's eyes had rolled back - he had lost consciousness. The medic looked up at Matthias.

"I need you to listen to me, Matthais." He said, voice calmer than he'd expected. "We need to take Lukas back to the infirmary. There's nothing more I can do for him with what I have here. Understand?"

"I'll carry him." Without another word, the Dane scooped his friend up in his arms, holding him close to his chest and whispering something that sounded like a promise to never let him go again.   
The group ran back through the battle, Tino obliterating any enemy who so much as dared look in their direction. Berwald watched as he glared around fiercely, usually soft blue eyes terrifyingly merciless. He guarded their backs as they raced to their lines. New explosions erupted around them, perilously close and relentless.

They dived behind their lines as fast as possible. They dodged their side's barbed wire expertly, careening into the lines of tents. Berwald made use of his longer strides, running into the infirmary to warn Eduard of Lukas' injury. The medic's eyes widened and he quickly directed Matthais to an empty bed. The injured soldier opened his eyes a tiny bit as he was laid gently on the bed. Weakly, he attempted to grab at Matthais' sleeve.

"Take ...care of- of Emil. For me." He choked out before losing consciousness again. The Danish soldier gritted his teeth, fear and ferocity in his gaze. He didn't move from the patient's bedside whilst Eduard and a team of other medics set to work saving Lukas. Berwald felt a small tug on his sleeve, looking around to see Tino. His expression had lost its earlier coldness, now solely gentle.

"Let's go outside."

-

The fresh air felt good after the panic of the battlefield and the intensity of the infirmary. It swept through the camp calmingly slowly after the rush of the last few hours. With hardly any soldiers remaining amongst the dark green material of the tents, the camp was quiet and without the noise of the battle, would have been peaceful.

Tino glanced back over his shoulder, first at the infirmary, then at Berwald. He smiled, but the Swedish medic could see how forced it was from where he stood. The small soldier's purplish blue eyes didn't have that same cheerful sparkle, but were instead dull and flooded with sorrow. He'd always known soldiers were heavily affected by what they saw - who wouldn't be? - but he'd never seen Tino in such a state. No one would be able to see their friend's legs being ripped from their torso and not be haunted by it. Berwald knew that he was.

"They'll save him. Lukas is strong and we have the best medics." Tino smiled at Berwald, sitting on a crate and gesturing for his friend to do the same. Berwald complied, nodding in response to the words.

"Who's Emil?" He asked. Tino smiled and let out a half laugh.

"His younger brother. Lukas joined up but Emil is still too young. He's in Iceland now, Lukas wanted to get him away from the war. He's very protective." Tino rambled. Berwald nodded. He'd seen the soldier being what some might call a little _over_ protective of Matthias, so he could only imagine what he'd be like with his brother.

Tino's expression changed in the following silence. First, he looked deep in thought, dragged into the depths of his mind. Then his soft frown turned into something like fear, then sad realisation. Berwald watched all of this pass over his features in succession, trying to figure out what the small soldier was thinking of. He jumped a little when Tino turned back to him.

"You know, we might- I don't know if I'll live to see the end of this war. There's nothing that will stop me from defending my country, but..." He frowned again, eyes fixed on his feet. "I just wanted you to know."

Berwald sat in confusion for a moment, wondering what Tino wanted him to know. The soldier stood up, finally being the same height as the sitting Berwald. It made a lot more sense when, in the still camp air behind the deserted canvas tents, he felt Timo kiss him softly. After a few seconds of strange blankness, he found himself reciprocating.   
A warm feeling spread through his chest as they broke apart. He watched Tino blink as if realising what exactly had just happened, his soft eyes widening and looking up at Berwald nervously. The medic gave him a rare smile.

"Y-you're not..." The soldier stuttered, face staining a brighter red with each passing second. "Disgusted by me?" He finished shakily. Berwald looked at him gently.

"No, Tino. I'm not disgusted by you in the slightest." The truth was that he admired the bravery contained by the tiny soldier. He admired his kind heart and fierce attitude and his friendly openness. "On the contrary, I think you're the bravest person I've ever met."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm... Ta da?
> 
> That last bit was just in relation to the time setting. Next chapter will be what happens to Lukas and the next push of the battle. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ sseraphss - feel free to talk to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's the first chapter. I hope you liked reading it, because I liked writing it. I'm not sure when I'll update, but it will be soon....
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
